


Darling, your seed catalogs are mixed up with my law books

by qvcrossb (handschuhmaus)



Category: Green Acres (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Pastiche, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/qvcrossb
Summary: In which Olive tries to find a hobby (hoping contrarily to prove she ISN'T artistic), Lisa just doesn't know where to start on tractor maintenance/restoration, and Arnold Ziffel gets lost.





	Darling, your seed catalogs are mixed up with my law books

**Author's Note:**

> I should mention that I grew up watching a handful of shows from the '60s because my parents had seen them. Green Acres didn't come up until later, and well, sometimes I get annoyed at the casual sexism. (...I'm pretty sure Doctor Who was doing a lot better job in the 60s, incidentally) and wish it were improved. Hence, a modern reworking with some changes.
> 
> I was tempted to bring Elle Woods into this but... from seeing as she was willing to argue a case based on a stereotype, I'm not sure she's the sort of ally they need...

Lisa:  
Green acres are the place to be!  
Farm living is the life for me.  
Land spreading out so far and wide  
Take Manhattan, just give me that countryside

Olive:  
New York is where I'd rather stay  
I get allergic, smelling hay  
I just adore the city lights  
Darling, I love you, but give me Manhattan's nights

LISA: You are my wife--  
Olive: Goodbye, city life!  
Together: Green acres, we are there!

* * *

Olive was not especially happy about several aspects of the bathroom experience this morning, but she was also trying not to disturb Lisa after her late night last night. To wit, already on their second day in the farmhouse: 1) the water had been hot out of the faucet for approximately two minutes only, which wasn't going to be sufficient for any purpose; 2) the door to the bathroom closet was off its track and wouldn't shut; 3) the sink faucet resisted being properly shut off and dripped loudly if you didn't get it tight; and 4) the toilet was now out and out broken--opening the tank and reaching in was the only way it would flush. 

"Good morning, Sunshine," Lisa greeted her, stretching and yawning and humming ("Here Comes the Sun") as she walked into the bathroom in only her daisy print short pj's.

"I don't know whether you mean it's a morning to be good on, or--" Olive began grumpily.

"Olive, you aren't sunshiny at all this morning. That's not what I married you for." She sat down to use the toilet. "I think I am going to miss having nice clean nails, though, if yesterday is anything to go by."

Olive winced, eying the bandage on Lisa's finger. "You tore half your nail off yesterday," she reminded her in a pained tone. "By the way, the toilet's not flushing."

"Do we have to call a plumber?" Lisa stood up, wiped, and gently elbowed her wife in the ribs for sink space.

"It's the chain. One of us can probably fix it, _if_ we can find a hardware store. What should we have for breakfast?"

"There's always hotcakes," Lisa said teasingly, as she applied some sort of sunscreen/foundation lotion she habitually wore (but which Olive had never quite understood the nature of). The hotcakes were a running joke but quite real; some online vendor had sent them a whole box, the size of a small chair, full of pancake mix, when they actually ordered a single bag of a different variety of the pancake mix and paid accordingly. It had been difficult to store in New York, given the size of the apartment, but even when they made the vendor understand what had happened, they just wouldn't accept a return.

"Aren't you getting tired of hotcakes? We could make waffles."

"Yes, but the waffle iron is still packed up."

"Eeech," Olive made an annoyed noise. "Fine, whatever."

"Did you hear that?" Lisa asked, tilting her head towards the bathroom door.

"Did I hear what?"

"Someone's at our door, dear" Lisa informed her, pointedly eying Olive's half-buttoned blouse and pants in contrast with her own PJs.

"But my hair--"

"It won't hurt you to look disheveled for once, dear, and I can't go to the door in my pyjamas."

It was Mr. Haney at the door.

TBC...


End file.
